


Tremble

by Kalael, Lindzzz



Series: Shiver [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M, PITCH CONTINUES TO BE TERRIBLE, Panic Attacks, Shiver, Stalking, This is all your fault, Trauma, Victim Blaming, and Kalaels fault, emetophobia warning, references to noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindzzz/pseuds/Lindzzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are nights when he can barely tell the shadows apart from nightmares..."</p><p>The sequel to Shiver that really should not have happened but WHOOPS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I never meant for there to be a sequel to Shiver at all. Then Kalael, master of Jack-Angst, decided to take a crack at it, then I started getting ideas for what was going on in Pitch's head for what she was writing, and then we pulled out powers of horrible together.
> 
> Jack POV is Kalael, Pitch POV is me, and I blame this entirely on everyone who demanded on a Shiver continuation.

Waiting is Pitch’s specialty.

Half of fear is in the suspense. In the growing, building pressure as he waits for just the right moment to send the perfect Nightmare. He can watch a victim for hours before finding the one fear perfectly designed to break them.

He waited centuries, watching the world go without him, bided his time while he slowly learned how to infect Sanderson’s golden dreamsand.

He could wait for eons, for the right incentive.

But it’s becoming difficult.

It had taken everything in him to stop himself from tracking Jack down as soon as the boy vanished. Pitch had been left with nothing but the evidence on his hands _(quickly cleaned, though the flavor had left his mouth too quickly afterwards)_ and a melting coat of frost.

He was alone again, warm and jittery, pacing on the spot as he thought about what had just happened.

For a brief, glorious moment Jack had been entirely his. Every bit of Jack had been focused on Pitch and nothing stood between them. No carefully watchful moon, no raging Guardians, just him, Jack, and the honest fear in the air.

And now Jack was far away, far from where Pitch could touch him, when he should be available whenever Pitch needed to feel that shuddering flesh.

 _Patience_...Pitch thinks. Jack will come back. Pitch had given him something new, something no one else ever could. Pitch had taken him and given the boy something to belong to.

That, after all, is what Jack needed. He needed something to own him, something to make him feel real and believed in. It was why he had given in to the Guardians after all. Pitch couldn’t blame Jack, really, for running to the first beings that gave him a purpose _(though he had wanted to kill Jack for it, even in his defeat all he could think of was destroying Jack. Make him pay make him PAY for daring to turn Pitch down, daring to deny what was right in front of him so Pitch would rip him apart. Would bury his blade so deep in the boy that nothing would bring him back)_.

But Pitch had given him something better, had offered more. Pitch could own Jack and know him. He already knew him, in a way those blinding and brilliant fools never could. And he’d given Jack something they wouldn’t even think of. Pitch had given him touch and companionship; he’d given him a brilliant, sharp truth that cuts down to the core of what they are.

Cold and fear and pleasure, all woven together to make something gorgeous that was theirs alone. Something solid that Jack couldn't deny forever.

He would come back, eventually. There was nothing else for him to do.


	2. Chapter 2

There are nights when he can barely tell the shadows apart from nightmares and it tears at his mind, trying to break into the tightly closed off memory of that night not so long ago. He can’t hide his fear from its king and he can’t stop being afraid, can’t turn his false bravado into genuine courage. The worst part is that he isn’t sure if any of it was real. It seemed real _(felt real)_ but dreams are all in your head, aren't they? Even if Pitch had been there in his dream _(nightmare)_ it didn’t mean he’d really been—

It didn’t mean it had actually happened to him. He wasn’t marked when he woke up. He was exactly where he’d fallen asleep beforehand and the only thing wrong was his inability to stop shaking and his shortness of breath _(and the telling, telling damp at the crotch of his pants)_. Jack doesn’t like being restrained, doesn't like losing control of a situation. Of course Pitch, imaginary or not, could take what bits of comfort he had and grind them to dust.

Was it real? It couldn’t be, it shouldn’t be, but there is no way his mind could have concocted something that terrible.

_(He could feel the scratches down his chest in excruciating detail and for days he thought that the marks were there, that they were real and bruised and bleeding and scarring)_

Sometimes he thinks that he’s sleeping again, when the moon is hidden behind the clouds and the darkness is so still and silent that it feels like a scene in a film, the calm before the storm. In his head Pitch comes out of the shadows and he just takes, takes, takes but then the wind rustles the trees and the spell is broken. The clouds roll away from the moon and Jack has to avert his eyes because the shame he feels is too much. He can’t face Manny with the knowledge that he’d—

He still can’t say it. He probably never would. He’d have to acknowledge the truth, then, and the wound is still too raw.


	3. Chapter 3

Three months.

He lasts three months before anticipation is clawing at his innards like a trapped beast. At any other point he’d be disgusted with himself for losing his patience in such a short blink. But these were unusual circumstances after all; he'd never had to make himself hold back from what was already his.

Pitch had meant to give Jack time, meant to let him come on his own. It was a delicate situation and he couldn’t push again so soon. He needed to wait for Jack to come to him from his own free will.

But his hands burned and everything was too warm far, far too warm and sweltering and thick. He needed cool air _(cool flesh, soft so soft and smooth and reacting so exquisitely to the slide of his hand)_ and wind on his face; needed something to pull his mind from it _(the way Jack arched under his touch the way goosebumps would rise under Pitch’s palm like his very skin was straining for more)._

And it was so easy at first, the herd was restless and caught in the hunt and he let himself be caught with them. He rides for hours before he feels it.

Just a sliver, the smallest tint of familiar fear in the air. And it’s just like that night it’s the same flavor and cadence and distance does nothing to dim the taste of it. He imagines it’s like the smell of a favorite dish or wine that drowns everything else.

He breaks from the herd and follows it, tracks it and grows almost giddy on the feel of it filling his senses _(sweet and sharp and so, so quiet it’s smaller than before and more tense its like the smell of the air before a blizzard or the crisp and burning cold on a clear winter sky)._

The taste grows stronger as the miles go by and Pitch goes faster, grows more and more desperate as he hunts the delicate crack of fear to it’s source. All his plans of patience go flying because he can’t ignore it, can’t hold back with the fear enveloping his every thought

Jack is close and the fear is in the air and Pitch can’t wait, not with that pulling at him. He’s so preoccupied that he barely manages to come to an abrupt halt at the tendril of golden sand in his path.

 _Sanderson_....he hisses, pulling back into the shadow as the winding sand continues on it’s path. He’s so close, so so close and this FOOL is in his way.

He stays in the shadows, snarling softly as he dodges around streams of sand winding their way to their targets, never letting go of the scent of Jack’s fear. Pitch can’t hold in the growl when he finds his target sitting up cheerfully on Sanderson’s cloud.

Pitch frowns, there is something...off. Jack is smiling, laughing at some idiotic thing Sanderson is doing but there is still that undercurrent of fear pulsing all around him.

Pitch falls deeper into shadow, slinks as close as he dares to get a better look.

Jack is smiling and bright eyed, but he’s entirely saturated in fear. It scents every move he makes, makes his smiles brittle and his eyes flat and sharp. It makes his laugh cracked just ever, ever so slightly at the edges.

Jack wears his fear under a barely stable coat of shining smiles and bright laughter. Pitch is used to Jack covering his fear, but this doesn’t dull and dampen it like the anger and defiance does. Jack’s smile adds a new depth to it, makes it so much sweeter.

It’s utterly fascinating. Everything is calm, Jack is surrounded by dreamsand, yet there is terror ( _brittle and impossibly delicate like thin frost over deep water and he wants to see that ice break wants to know what’s underneath_ ) coloring every move he makes.

 _What are you afraid of...._ he thinks, staring up at the smiling boy.

Of course, Pitch could look. Could pry open Jack’s mind and see what has him smiling too wide and laughing too loud.

But that would hardly be any fun. And if Jack had taught him one thing, it was to enjoy the fun bits of life.

He slips away into the dark, though he wants so, so much to pull Jack down and feel that fear against him _(vibrating and cold and it goes so perfectly together he thought Jack’s defiance was perfect but his fear oh his quiet wondrous fear...)_ , he doesn’t dare approach while Sanderson is in the same COUNTRY.

The smile grows and doesn’t leave his face as he returns to his Nightmares. There’s the lingering flavor of Jack’s quiet fear on the back of his tongue and the screams of his herd in the night. Everything is absolutely lovely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kal here with a warning about this chapter because there are a fair amount of triggers SO BE WARNED. YEAH.
> 
> Also I may or may not switch between past and present tense and I'm sorry if I do sdfghg

Ever since Jack had become a Guardian, the Big Four (now five) would meet at either North's workshop or Tooth's palace for monthly check ups. The bitter taste of defeat, however brief it was, had made them all a little paranoid about Pitch's possible return. They had been taken down as separate forces, but as a single unit they are far stronger. The meetings were meant to assure the Guardians that everything is still going well, and to make sure that Pitch’s activities were reported to all members. More often than not the meetings turn into a less serious event since Pitch had been very, very quiet in the months following his loss.

Jack sat in his designated spot up in the rafters of North’s office. He arrived early; not even North has come upstairs yet. Apparently it’s never too soon to get busy with the Christmas gig. The office is a cool place but since Jack had already gotten acquainted with the room during the last few visits, there isn’t anything there to distract him. Which is a shame since he’d been trying to avoid his own thoughts for the past couple of months. He passes the time by playing with a snowball, glancing out the window every once in awhile to see if Sandy or Tooth were closing in. Bunnymund would be the last to show up, as always. He liked to wait until the last minute, not that Jack could blame him. There are a lot of Easter eggs to take care of and whatnot.

A flash of color at the window catches his eye and Jack sits up from his relaxed position just in time to catch a very excited Baby Tooth dive bombing into his sweater pocket.

“Hey, Baby Tooth.” Jack smiles as she chirps and swoons at him. Good to know some things never change.

“Jack!” Tooth greets from the window she had just pulled herself through. “How have you been? Are you flossing?” She flies up to him and raises her hands, unnervingly close and her fingers are _(dark warm suffocating)_ small as they near his mouth with the intent of pulling his lips out of the way to examine his teeth.

Jack leans away and waves her off. “I’m fine and so are my teeth, thanks. Nothing’s changed since the last time you saw me. It never does.” Lies lies _lies_ but Tooth just gives him a bemused smile and backs off. 

“Force of habit. You have such lovely teeth, it’d be a shame if you got a cavity.” It isn’t actually possible for Jack to get a cavity and they both know it, but Jack usually let Tooth get away with it since he thought her infatuation with his teeth was a little bit flattering. She is very picky about her bicuspids or whatever. Baby Tooth flies up to nuzzle Jack’s chin and the soft touch _(too warm too light too sensitive)_ catches him by surprise. He jolts and Baby Tooth squeaks with alarm.

“Sorry, sorry. Just give a guy a little warning next time?” He gives her the biggest, most apologetic grin that he can muster and is rewarded with a soft sigh from both fairies as his teeth go on full display. Easy as pie _(it shouldn't be so easy to lie shouldn't be so easy to fool them)_. “Have you seen Sandy?”

“I passed his cloud on the way here. He’s working on Iceland right now, but I’m certain he’ll arrive soon.” Tooth hovers uncertainly over Jack ( _shadows creeping up his limbs and holding him down_ ) and he slides from the wooden beam that he had been crouching on. Tooth is quick to follow and Baby Tooth flits around his head as he paces across the room. It occurrs to him suddenly that he should tell them about the dream—no, he can’t. There is no way he can do that. Jack pauses mid-step, tosses his staff from one hand to the other and the wind swirls at his feet, preparing to pick him up. He debates leaving. The others would understand if he gave them some sort of excuse, but leaving would defeat the purpose of the monthly get together. They need to be a strong unit. They can’t let their ties weaken.

They are at their most vulnerable when they are alone.

That thought hits Jack like a punch to the gut and he releases all the breath he’d been holding in one anxious sigh. A presence to his right nearly makes him flinch but he catches himself in time. No. He is fine, it’s fine, everything is okay. Everything is alright. Jack turns to Sandy and grins and—

Afterwards he can’t remember most of the meeting. He had hardly noticed when Bunny came in just a few moments before North did, barely paid attention as the others greeted him and exchanged niceties. Hello how are you, I hope you’re doing well, I’m fine thank you, I haven’t seen Pitch, he’s been too quiet but we don’t mind he must be too weak to retaliate. Jack wants to scream _‘No, he’s there, he has power, he was in my head!’_ but the fear keeps him quiet. The fear makes him smile and pretend he is fine and the fear turns to guilt because these are his friends and they would do anything for him. Not telling them about Pitch feels like betrayal. Not telling them about ( _the hands the shadows the scratches the way he couldn’t even **scream**_ ) Pitch’s growing power, his ability to seep into their nightmares, feels like he is enabling Pitch to keep working.

Jack dodges North’s hug goodbye and with a hasty farewell the wind sucks him out of the office and tosses him into the air. He doesn’t know where he is going and he doesn’t care, he just needs to be _away_. The ocean passes below him and it gives way to city lights and forest tops. The wind is carrying him to Burgess, Jack realizes, and the thought of his pond and the space beneath it immediately makes his lungs seize up. He hasn’t been there since it had happened. Jack forces himself out of the wind’s hold and barely manages a stable landing, scrabbling at brick walls as he stumbles off the street into an alley.

It’s impossible to ignore it now it’s impossible to deny it because _Pitch had been there_ and dream or not the feeling of his hands is scarred into his skin like oil burns. The light from the streetlamps is too dim here and the air is damp and when Jack tries to close his eyes and inhale he finds that he _can’t._

He can’t breathe, he can’t _breathe_ and his chest heaves as he tries to take in more air. Jack’s arms curl around his stomach and he doubles over, breaths coming in shorts pants and then in ragged gasps. There isn’t enough air and his lungs are going to burst, he’s having a heart attack and he’s going to die here in this alleyway like some overdosed prostitute—

His legs lose all their strength and his hyperventilation gives way to dry heaves as his stomach tries to expel its nonexistent contents. Bile rises in the back of Jack’s throat and it burns _(burns like hands on his skin)_ its way out of his mouth onto the black _(oil-slick shadowed)_ asphalt he is hunched over. His body shakes uncontrollably and his hands fist into the front of his sweatshirt as he tries to _(run away)_ breathe.

He’s in that little burrow under the lake all over again and he will never stop shaking.

Jack groans and rests his forehead on the ground, gravel digging into his skin and the acrid smell of stagnant water burning his nostrils. For a brief, hysterical moment he thinks _‘so that’s what my body keeps inside it’_ before he is choking on bile again. He’s so focused on avoiding the sight of his own vomit that he misses the way his shadow begins to writhe beneath him, elongating and gaining a pair of luminous eyes that stare unblinking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pitch is a Delusional Nutjob: The Series

Pitch hunts for that fear as often as he can. It’s a constant thrumming in the back of his mind that calls to him, dares him to grab ahold and go where it leads. 

Jack goes everywhere with it, and Pitch goes everywhere with Jack. The moon may be bright, but it makes the shadows darker, makes it easier for Pitch to follow unseen, undetected, and unheard. He's not sure what he's watching for but he can't bring himself to stop _(though he wants to do more than watch wants to reach out and take, take Jack and bring him home where he belongs but Pitch holds back he has to wait has to wait until Jack is ready...)_

Even in the pole, where he can only get so close without alerting the yetis _(not close enough not enough he can't SEE anything)_ , Jack’s fear surrounds him. Pitch is so in tune with it now that he can feel the ebb and flow of it, feel how it will spike in sudden jolts before quickly being covered over by that bright cheer.

Lovely as that is, Pitch still scowls from where he lingers in the crags of the mountain. Jack’s fear is tense and higher than usual. Pitch can’t catch even the faintest hint of real concern from the Guardians and they can’t see it they can’t see JACK. Not really! They’re content as long as he's their weapon as long as he plays along with their rules they don’t see him they DON’T see him!

And Jack still deludes himself! Still thinks he belongs with them, still holds on to that lie! He meets with them and smiles and laughs with them while Pitch can feel how he’s barely holding himself together. 

The fear is growing and building, scrambling at the walls Jack keeps up. There are only faint echoes of it from this distance and Pitch could claw North’s entire damned workshop down with how much he wants to see how Jack looks right now.

_You know you don’t belong there you know you’re not one of them. Do they even notice Jack? Do they care enough as long as you do what they want and act how they want as long as you stay in their lines? You feel it you feel how much you don’t fit in you feel how wrong it is I know you do. You’re surrounded by your so called friends and you’re entirely. alone._

As if on cue _(as if he heard as if he could feel Pitch there)_ Jack flies out of the factory like the devil is after him. Pitch barely has time to call the closest Nightmare to him, can barely catch his breath because the fear is so much stronger and oh it’s so close to breaking through the ice and Pitch needs to see it needs to **feel** it.

He clutches at the Nightmare hard, clings to the quickly dwindling fear with his mind and chases it far, far over the ocean.

It takes him several miles to realize what direction Jack is going and he can’t let himself hope can’t get ahead of himself...

But for the first time since that night Jack is flying towards Burgess, back to the lake and the burrow and the single, lonely and broken bed that marks one of the entrances to Pitch’s home.

Pitch doesn’t dare to hope, can’t let himself begin to think it, but he doesn’t even try to hold the grin back, after so many long months waiting ...was it the Guardians who finally pushed their little golden boy away? Back to where he belonged.

Then Jack drops so suddenly that Pitch nearly goes flying right over him. He snarls and yanks back on the Nightmares reigns hard enough that she wrenches and nearly goes plummeting down. He leaps off into the shadows as soon as he’s close enough and sends her on her way.

He can feel Jacks fear rising into a frantic crescendo. Pitch darts through the dark shadows between narrow buildings, gritting his teeth because it’s strong enough that he feels like Jack’s terror is hitting him from every direction. He’s stuck trying to find Jack without any lead.

And _where_ is Jack going? He had dropped so suddenly that it was as if he had been shot from the sky. He was supposed to be going back to Burgess!

He finally finds the dingy alley where Jack has landed and Pitch would swear that his heart skips a beat when he sees him.

The boy is on his knees, clutching his middle and sobbing out broken, heaving breaths (different from his whimpers, just as raw but ripped from him like every gasp is pain). Pitch slowly circles closer, watching in fascination as Jack heaves and vomits and the fear is a miasma in the air.

The ice had cracked and Pitch could finally see what was underneath.

_Oh you little thing...look what they do to you..._

But nothing is explaining WHY Jack is afraid. Pitch knows the Guardians did this somehow, their lack of acceptance, their lack of understanding, the way they couldn’t even see Jack’s distress, but it doesn’t explain how Jack’s fear is so overpowering. Pitch can barely think straight with how intoxicating all the fear is.

It’s wrong, Jack isn’t fear, it’s beautiful and Pitch can’t look away but it’s WRONG. Jack may fear _(may tremble and whimper and gasp with thrilled fear)_ but he isn’t this broken, sobbing thing that is nothing but terror and violent shaking.

Pitch eases closer, careful, though it’s not like Jack would notice now. The boy is completely curled over, the sobs dying into soft, broken gasps and chokes and he’s shaking still shaking as if he’ll fall apart.

He needs to see more, needs to know what all of it looks like. From here he can only see Jack’s hunched back, even the sight of Jack’s hair is blocked from the hood pulled up over his head. 

Pitch inhales, breathes deep like he’s about to take a dive, and plunges into Jacks shadow.

_TERROR FEAR STOP STOP NO STOP DONT PLEASE FEAR MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP PLEASE PLEASE **PLEASE**_

Pitch nearly loses control, feels everything writhe around him and he has to grab onto his bearings, has to grasp the edges and bring them in around him until the world stops blurring. He finally fully goes into the shadow, eyes clearing and Jack...

Jack looks broken from here. His face red and blotched and stained with tears and oh the red and pink smudges with glazed pale blue eyes and white skin is far more beautiful than it has any right to be.

It’s beautiful in the way the fine spiderweb lines of cracks through ice are beautiful, bright and broken and utterly perfect. But _wrong._

His chest feels tight and everything is roiling and conflicted. This is fear, true and perfect terror and broken, quiet cries but it’s not Jack it’s not how JACK fears. 

Pitch’s hand is moving, reaching up from shadow before he can really think about it. He can’t look away but he can’t stand it can’t STAND that Jack is this broken thing. He wants to pull him in, draw him close and he’s not sure what to do with this urge. Pitch has never wanted to comfort anything before, especially not from such a delicious fear. But he finds that he doesn’t like it at all now, he’ll take the sharp, raw and beautiful fear that Jack had on that night _(perfect night the night that everything started making sense when he realized what Jack was supposed to be when he realized that THEY were supposed to be)_ but he can’t stand this blind and quietly shredding, crumbling fear.

He means to simply touch, to find out what that fear feels like, to smooth that tense trembling away, but he’s barely within inches of Jack’s hair when it’s too close too close he can hear-

_Hands all over him and he can’t get away from those hands and the heat surrounding him smothering him can’t get away can’t make it stop can’t scream can’t do anything he’s USELESS HELPLESS CAN’T MAKE IT STOP STOP STOP STOP_

Pitch yanks back to the shadows, eyes wide and hand burning from the sharp memory of Jack’s thoughts. Fear of touching and that didn’t make sense it doesn’t make sense that had been a GIFT. There wasn’t any reason for Jack to still be so afraid of touch not when Pitch had showed him how it could be.

He clenches his hand, shifts slightly, indecisive and unsure. This wasn’t supposed to happen this wasn’t how Jack was supposed to react. Why couldn’t the boy see what Pitch had done was FOR him?

He pulls away, pulls out of Jack’s shadow and now it’s almost a relief to get some distance between himself and...that. Part of him wants desperately to stay, to etch forever in his mind the way Jack looks when he’s cracked and broken and so soft and quiet and crippled with his fear. 

But he needs to think, needs to figure out what went wrong and how he can make Jack see the truth.

He slides back to the dark shadows of the alley, too distracted to hear the pained gasp as he glides into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

The night of his breakdown becomes another memory locked tight behind steel walls, only the barest tendrils of that anxiety managing to escape. It was a moment of unforgivable weakness, one that could have cost him more than his pride. He knows Pitch was there. He knows in a way he can’t explain and that confuses him and horrifies him at the same time. A pressure in his head and a sudden still warmth all around him, drumming heartbeats like the song of an executioner. It wasn’t a dream it was real it was _real_ and there’s no turning back now. The dark isn’t safe.

Jack can't focus when the sun starts going down and the shadows grow longer in twilight. They reach out to him even as he flies in the opposite direction, fleeing towards the places where nighttime has already begun and the moon is keeping an eye on the earth. But even with the moonlight washing over him in shades of blue, Jack feels as though he might sink through the ground at any moment. There are shadows everywhere, he realizes. Shadows in simple places, shadows he had never considered before. They stick out to him now as blotches of ink just waiting for him to get too close.

Any shadow could be the one that grabs him and drags him ( _to Pitch_ ) into the dark.

Being in the air is safe, to an extent, but Jack can only go so long feeling weightless before he longs to touch the ground again. The obvious solution is to go someplace where he feels secure. But where would that be? His small burrow beneath the lake isn't safe anymore. Burgess is home but he can’t put Jamie and the other children at risk, not again. He could go to the other Guardians; all of them had offered their homes to him and they had made it very clear that he was welcome at any time. North’s workshop was always bustling with life and the big man seemed to like having him around. Of the four other Guardians North always seemed the most eager to talk with him, probably due to guilt for leaving Jack alone for so long.

No, he can't go to North. He can't play off his guilt like that. Bunnymund is out because even though things have been patched up between them, Jack doesn't think he can hold up their banter for very long. It’s gotten harder to play around with Bunny when his mind is always, always focused on other things ( _can Bunny smell fear can he read into Jack's expression would he pick up on Jack's halfhearted teasing does he know what’s wrong_ ) and Jack doesn't want to cause trouble, at least any that's not of the snowy variety.

Tooth and Sandy are both too busy since their jobs require a lot more time and concentration. Jack can't bother them with his personal issues, his dumb paranoia ( _his fears and panic attacks and the ever growing distance between him and them_ ). Jack has his own job to do still, anyway. He still only has a small amount of believers but those who can see him actually look forward to his arrival. Jamie, Sophie and the others would miss him but he can’t go back, can’t look at their faces and pretend that everything is safe good _fine._

It feels dirty to play with the children after what happened to him. He isn't worthy of being a Guardian.

Jack pushes that thought away and tries to think of someplace he can go when suddenly it hits him. Children sleep at night and that's when Sandy watches out for them, and Jack usually does his job during the day. Pitch does his work at night. He had been going about this all wrong. Jack stands and allows a spark of hope to swell within him. All he has to do is stay in the daylight. The wind pulls at his clothes and Jack runs towards the edge of the roof he had been sitting on. He leaps off and with an exhilarated whoop of joy he sets off in the direction of sun, intent on chasing it around the Earth for as long as he can manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update but guys I'm so, so sorry for what Lindz and I have planned.
> 
> (I'm not actually sorry at all.)


	7. Chapter 7

Pitch lost track of Jack for almost two months.

And honestly, he hadn’t even realized it at first. He would have noticed Jack’s trick earlier, but he pulled so far into his lair that he didn’t register anything outside of himself.

He had needed to think. Jack was doing this wrong, he wasn’t supposed to be so afraid wasn’t supposed to be running away. A little fear was alright, that was what went so well with the cold but this fleeing and racing was just too much, Jack’s pure terror was too much.

So he curled into the darkest, smallest space he could find, pulling shadows in on himself until he couldn’t tell where he ended and the dark began. All the while the Nightmares circled him, unable to resist his turmoil. Unable to resist pulling up the screaming in his head.

_You you you you did this this is your fault stupid foolish old man couldn’t stop you ruined everything EVERYTHING he’ll only look at you like that now you fool you FOOL. That’s all you’ll have, all you’ll have of him. You really thought you had found someone? That you wouldn’t be alone again? You’ll always be alone always always always and you did it **you did it.**_

He clutches his head, hisses and tries to drown them out. No, no that was wrong it had to be wrong Jack just didn’t understand. Jack had been tricked by the Guardians! Otherwise he’d know what was right he’d know where he belonged!

_He’ll never be yours never never never you’ll have nothing of his but that face and that luxurious fear but that’s all. He’ll always be one of them they got him they infected him and he’ll never belong to you he isn’t yours he’ll never be yours and it’s all your fault just stop just stop stop stop!_

“No...” He says, voice strained and soft and breaking as he hitches in a breath.

He wanted Jack for his own, felt like something had been broken that night and he couldn’t stop it now. Pitch never did things by halves and he couldn’t stop now that the floodgates had been opened. 

_No...no he is mine. He was always mine. I just hadn’t realized before but I always knew, why else would I want to kill him when he wouldn’t be mine? I knew then...even then I knew what he was._

Jack had made a mistake, long ago, but mistakes could be forgiven, things could start over.

But he didn’t want Jack running, it would ruin everything to have to drag him by force. That wasn’t _them_ , it wasn’t what they were MEANT for. And he can’t stop replaying it in his head, how much Jack feared the feel of hands on him the HORROR at hands on him and no no no that was wrong that was WRONG how could Jack get everything wrong AGAIN.

Why couldn’t Jack ever see what Pitch was doing FOR him? It was too much like when he had shown Jack what the Guardians really thought of him, showed him how quickly they would throw him away. And Jack had SEEN that he was right, Pitch knew it then, still knows it, he had seen it in Jack’s eyes. But he turned his back then, and now he was outright fleeing from it. Fleeing from what they were.

_If I had found him first...if I had gotten him before the Guardians and their lies...then he would know he wouldn’t try to run from the truth he would see what we are what we are made for would see how he fits so perfectly against me. But he’s been lied to been forced into a box that doesn’t fit him I need to pull him out need to make him see make him see what he was meant for._

Cold and dark and fear and loneliness but they came together into something uniquely them. And it had been perfect then, when it all finally fit together that night, when it all became clear. Pitch can’t believe it had taken him that long to realize it.

Jack hadn’t been made for the Guardians, despite what that old fool in the moon may think, he was made for Pitch. He was MEANT to belong to Pitch. Everything about slotted perfectly into the jagged edges that made Pitch up and now Jack just had to understand it. 

Pitch had to MAKE him understand it.

He finally pulled himself from the shadows with a new purpose. He couldn't wait quietly while Jack continued to block him out. Not anymore.

But couldn’t find the boy anywhere. Jack hadn’t been back to Burgess since that night and couldn’t be found wandering on power lines and rooftops like usual. It wasn’t a concern at first, Jack travelled constantly and Pitch was still disoriented enough to not worry about not finding the thread of Jacks fear.

Two weeks passed, two weeks without a sign of Jack anywhere, and Pitch began to feel the slow, creeping roiling inside of him. His skin was too tight and he couldn’t stop moving couldn’t keep all the energy inside of him. Jack had run. Jack had finally found a place where Pitch couldn’t track him.

He winds through twilight in some godforsaken Siberian town, thinking perhaps the ice and snow would attract Jack here. But the night is almost over and there hasn’t been a whisper on the howling wind, not a trace of Jack’s constant fear _(wrong fear it was wrong wrong **wrong** Pitch had to make it go away had to wipe it away it didn’t matter how gorgeous perfect sweet clear **perfect** it was he needed it to LEAVE)_.

He hisses softly as the night recedes, he’s ready to follow it as it moves on but then he feels it.

The soft, silky feel of that fear in the air, caressing him like a lover returned after a long wait. His breath shudders out of him, his eyes flutter and he had forgotten how that fear felt, how he both despised and longed for it.

It’s weaker than it was before, which is a relief, but still hums through the air and washes over him and it’s so distinct and so entirely Jack.

There’s a gust, the wind is constant here but Pitch can feel the difference can feel the shift in the air.

It’s an unusually clear day and the sun steadily grows brighter, lighting the sky up sharp and blue and the snow makes everything blinding. He should leave, should sink into the night. Pitch sucks in a breath between his teeth as he flinches back into the dark shadows between two buildings. There’s too much light too much sun too much brilliance everywhere.

But there’s a flash as Jack flies overhead and the soft padding of bare feet on the roof. Pitch grits his teeth, braces himself and follows the shadows up the wall to where Jack is.

“What a desolate place, huh? I guess I should take it as a challenge. Let’s see if I can make _these_ people laugh at snow.”

Pitch freezes on the spot before he realizes that Jack was talking to himself. Jack had his back to him and was looking out over the small village, completely unaware of Pitch plastering himself within the shadow of the nearby chimney _(with that damn hood up still and Pitch can’t see anything but dark blue material when he wants to know what the inches of vulnerable skin on the back of Jack’s neck looks like...)_.

It makes sense, for Jack to talk to the wind _(all that time alone...Pitch would often find himself talking to the shadows.)_

But for a second, Pitch can imagine that Jack was talking to him. That this was normal for them, they came here together and he would give these people Nightmares while Jack made a game of seeing if he could make them laugh at the same time. 

_Not going to happen never going to happen no no it would he would have it he just needed to convince Jack needed to grab him shake him rip his eyes open make him SEE._

“Eh, I think I could pull it off before sunset! I just have a timer going on me now.”

Sunset?

Jack had never cared about day or night before, he worked in both. The boy never took any care for time or light. So why....?

Pitch snarls silently, steps out from the shadow and makes himself bear the sun. He can feel his shadows roiling in the light but it doesn’t matter because Jack is trying the last of his patience. 

He can’t tell where the rage ends and something else entirely begins as he stalks towards Jack. He finally comes up close behind him, not sure what he plans on but as he draws near the rage slowly dwindles and dies. Jack is right there, barely a foot away from him and this is the closest Pitch has been to Jack since that night. This is the first time he’s been close enough to hear every soft breath and see the way Jack’s muscles shift under the sweatshirt as he prepares a snowball to throw at some unsuspecting victim.

Pitch stops, stands there and closes his eyes and feels it all. He can feel the cold radiating from Jack, feel the way the air vibrates between them and around them. Just being this close to Jack is like a touch, like something physical that wraps around him and sinks into his skin

How could Jack keep denying this? How could he keep running from this perfection?

He lifts a hand, feels his heart pound as he slowly, carefully lays it on the back of Jack’s neck through the _(damned rough cloth against his hand wrong wrong he needs to get rid of that)_ hood.

“What game are you playing at, Jack?” he asks sadly.

The sudden burst of terror _(and the sharp gasp of air like Jack is drowning it’s a broken inhale that shocks through both of them)_ is like a punch to Pitch’s gut, a slap to his head that sends his senses reeling and he clenches his hand, grounds himself on the feel of Jack under his hand _(where he belongs.)_

But after that shock Jack doesn’t move, goes still as stone and Pitch needs to see him, more of him. He circles around to Jacks front though he keeps his hand where it is _(can’t take it away, can’t make himself let go.)_ Jack’s eyes are wide and blank staring at nothing and everything is shaking, trembling, quaking like a rabbit in the eyes of a snake.

Pitch frowns, wants that to stop wants Jack to stop being this frozen, tiny animal in front of him. He pulls his hand off, just enough to slide his hand up and back, gliding over hair and pushing the hood down until he rests his hand back where it was.

And then it’s all right again. There’s cold skin under his hands and the texture is just slightly different from how Jack’s throat had felt that night, the skin thicker somehow but softer and more plush. It’s like a benediction, feeling that skin again, it’s a rebirth, it’s coming back to where they’re supposed to be.

Except Jack is staring up at him with wide,flat eyes like he can barely see Pitch at all.

“Why are you running from this?” He asks softly, “Why do you keep fighting?”

Jack jolts under his hand, his whole body spasms and Pitch clenches his grip, grabbing onto the back of Jack’s neck, keeping him there, making him LISTEN.

Pitch brings his other hand up, lays it along Jacks face just to feel the way muscles twitch and to slide his thumb along the edge of Jack’s cheekbone. Everything is so much more this way. With Jack facing him with him he can see everything; the way Jack’s eyelids twitch wider and the way his lips fall open with a ragged gasp.

Pitch tilts his head, watches each facial tic and only tightens the grip on Jacks nape with every flinch that wrenches through the boys body. He sighs and brushes his fingers over Jack’s face like it’s something he could read, like its a wonderful mystery left for him to unravel.

“You’re still trying to deny it. Trying to deny this. This is what you are meant for Jack. And it hurts, doesn’t it, trying to fight this? You don’t need to fight your fear Jack.” His voice softens, lowers to something impossibly tender and hurt as he traces the way Jack’s lips twitch with one finger. “You don’t need to fight me.”

Jack twitches back again, shifts like he was going to run but stops, shuddering and the soft sound he makes is like an animal dying. But it’s so quiet that Pitch almost misses it, even though every bit of him is listening. He lowers the hand on Jack’s neck, slides it down to wrap his arm around his back and he’s so small, so impossibly small as Pitch pulls him in, cups his cheek with one hand and presses his face to that hair.

“You know this is where you belong Jack. You know it.” He grits his teeth when he feels Jack practically turn into a block of ice in his arms. He still isn’t listening, even after everything he won’t LISTEN.

“Why why WHY are you fighting me!? Stop blocking me out, stop running! Even now, even now I know you want to run. You know you’re meant for me! You and I are the same, we’re EXACTLY the same Jack. Even as you fight it you know, you KNOW. Just like you did then.”

He holds Jack close, cradles his slight form against his chest and runs his hand over Jacks face, waiting for something for some reaction. Waiting for an end to this stony, frozen terror that has Jack in it’s grip. 

“They couldn’t tell, could they? Your little Guardian friends. They couldn’t tell how afraid you were even though you were right there.” He buries his face against that hair, lowers his voice. “I did Jack. I know you. I know that even when you’re with them, you’re alone. Alone in a way you never are with me. Did you tremble, like you did them, when they touched you? Did your body react to every move they make? Like it did then,” He runs his hand over Jack’s face, down his neck and back up, feeling skin jump and feeling Jack’s sharp intake of breath making his lungs expand, “like it is now?”

He nearly jolts when he feels wet icy cold on his hand and he pulls back just enough to see the silent tears running down from Jack’s wide, shocked eyes. Pitch stares, smears his thumb over the tracks and marvels at the cold. They’re colder than ice colder than the air around them but still perfectly crystal clear liquid against the pad of his finger. 

Jack’s breaths come in sharp, sudden gasps. It’s like he’s drowning on air like he can’t fill his lungs and the panic is a constant high shrieking in Pitch’s skull. He rubs a hand soothingly over Jack’s back, wipes at the tears with his thumb.

“SSshhhhh. Jack....sshhhh. It will stop hurting when you stop fighting your fear. Don’t you see? This is what you are. Cold and fear and dark and ice that is US. Embrace it, your body already knows, already reacted to my touch.” He presses his lips to Jack’s forehead, reminds him, in a soft, quiet whisper.

“You came to me Jack. Came _for_ me”

“No....”

It’s said so quiet and shaky that Pitch almost misses it. Almost.

“No?” He repeats, voice still soft, but dangerous now.

Jack shakes violently in his arms, lifts his own hands slightly, hands balled into fists even as he gasps brokenly through tears.

“No!” Jack is louder this time, more forced. “No, I’m not like you, I’m not! I’m nothing like you and you’re _wrong_!”

Pitch growls, grabs Jacks jaw and forces him to look up, forces him to look at Pitch. “Am I?! You’re mine, Jack! That’s what you were created for that’s what you were MADE for! You were made to belong to me and you know it!”

Jack’s breaths are coming up short again, he opens and closes his mouth in shock a few times before his eyes flash. ““No! I wasn’t made for you, I wasn’t made for anyone!”

This isn’t a nightmare, isn’t Pitch’s world and the wind nearly knocks him off of Jack completely, but he grabs his arms, grabs Jack and digs his fingers in hard enough to bruise and he wants to dig them in further wants to feel them sink into muscle.

“Is your memory faulty, perhaps!?” Pitch snarls at him, shaking him slightly and baring his teeth. “Maybe you don’t remember, Jack, how you called me there! It was YOUR mind! YOUR nightmare! You brought me there!”

“No no no! You made it you got into my head! _You_ did it!”

“I don’t make the nightmares you little fool! I can only watch! You let me in there! YOU had the nightmare you WANTED me there!”

Jack’s voice cracks and the anger gutters and dies under the growing horror. “No I didn’t, I don’t want you anywhere near me!”

The wind picks up around them, plucks at Pitch with sharp cold fingers and he only grips tighter, snarls and pulls Jack back in towards him and refuses to be moved. Jack struggles for a second, tenses against him then all but collapses, going limp with a soft broken sound and Pitch barely manages to catch him.

Jack is a small, frozen doll in his arms and he pulls him in close, all but supports his entire slight weight and holds Jack against his chest. The wind sputters around them and Pitch feels the rage die with it.

Jack is such a weak thing, small and delicate and Pitch can feel hands on his chest, pushes weakly. He runs his fingers through the hair under his chin, sucks in a breath as frost laces over his skin. This is it. This is what they are, the sharp cold on his skin and the fear in the air as the ice burns into him. He wants to somehow pull Jack in closer, wants to keep drawing him in until Jack is buried in his chest and the ice will be there forever on his skin and inside his veins.

“You wanted me there.” He repeats. “You wanted all of it.”

“No.”

Jack is limp but the word is sharp and harsh the ice against Pitch’s skin even sharper and it’s perfect, even as Jack keeps fighting him it’s perfect.

“Don’t you remember Jack?” He says softly, leaning down to Jack’s ear, making him listen making him pay attention. “The way you cried out for me, the way you arched for me, how you pushed up into my touch even as you tried to say no? You went with my hand, your skin was flushed and you could barely breath because of me, because you knew what you wanted.”

The ice suddenly grows harder and colder against his chest, breaks into shards as Jack screams and screams like he’s being ripped apart. Pitch presses his lips to the sweat-damp temple. It’s such a beautiful sound that he can hardly bear it.

“I wondered, so often since, what that sounded like.” He says, voice reverent. “When you screamed for me as you came for me. You’re mine, Jack. You are already mine. We both know it. I’m only waiting for you to admit it. To admit to what your body already knows.”

Jack isn’t even breathing now, every bit of him is still as stone and colder than ice and Pitch can wait. Jack knows, knows he’s right. It will only be a matter of time before he admits it, and Pitch is patient. 

He pulls back slightly, watches Jack’s face, the way his eyes dart over Pitch’s face and shine with tears, the way the red rimmed lids and flushed face go so beautifully with white skin and perfect blue. Jack’s lips are parted as he tries to breathe and Pitch can’t take his eyes from them.

“I know you’re still fighting, you always fight. I’ll wait for you Jack.”

Jack’s eyes harden for a second, determined and cold and that’s it, that’s his Jack. He can’t resist then, can’t help but lean down and press his lips softly, so softly, to that cool mouth. And it’s another rebirth, it’s like coming back up for air. Jack is still and not even shaking anymore. It’s like kissing ice, soft and perfect ice and he wants more so desperately. Wants to pulls Jack back and take him and never let him back up, never let his mouth pull away never stop tasting him.

But he has to wait. Told himself he would wait for Jack.

He pulls away, lets go, and it feels like he’s ripping off his own skin. He can feel the ice melting on him already, and his hands burn from the loss of cold. But he said he would wait. So he melts back into the shadows.

“But I won’t wait forever.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For maximum feelings I suggest listening to Heavy in Your Arms by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> Also this is fairly important for Jack's emotional development.

Two months. Two blissful months alone, able to do his own thing without being absolutely petrified of his own shadow. Jack had been skeptical of his plan at first: he was desperate and nothing else seemed to be working. But being in the daylight put him at ease and by keeping to the rooftops he could avoid the deep shadows that the sun brought. No one had caught onto him yet, although his constant movement likely kept his curious friends away. He hadn’t gone to the past two meetings with the rest of the Guardians. It had been too easy to tell them he was busy, considering it’s December and most of the Northern hemisphere is looking forward to snow and biting winds. Jack is only too happy to oblige.

Eastern Siberia is pretty nice this time of year even if no one really knows who he is around there. He’s in a backwater town that he doesn’t care to learn the name of, and it’s a few weeks before Christmas but everyone looks so dour and grumpy. Jack lands on a rooftop and watches the people scurrying around below him with a half-smile on his lips. It’s not the same as playing with believers but sometimes it’s nice to have this time to himself and it’s a little like the old days, when the sky is clear and the wind is strong and all he needs are a few good snowballs to make the day even better.

“What a desolate place, huh? I guess I should take it as a challenge. Let’s see if I can make _these_ people laugh at snow.” It’s always hardest in Russia because the people are made of tough stuff. They’re too used to ice and snow to fully enjoy it. He bounces on the balls of his feet and chews his lip while watching a particularly crabby woman cross the street. The day has only just begun, he’d touched down earlier than expected and it’s just a bit past dawn. The sunlight is warm on his skin and it casts the village in gold. Jack smiles.

“Eh, I think I could pull it off before sunset! I just have a timer going on me now.” It’s a game, it’s always been a game. It _has_ to be a game or else he’ll think of the reason _why_ and Jack has been avoiding that for as long as he can. He smiles and prepares to whip up a snowball, intent on smacking that sour looking lady before she gets out of sight. His hand is half raised when he feels pressure on the back of his neck _(and he hates how he freezes he hates how he **knows** )_ and that voice is loathsomely familiar. His staff clatters to the ground as he sucks in a breath so sharply that it feels like death all over again _(he has no control over his limbs no control over his body and he’s suffocating)_.

“What game are you playing at, Jack?” He has no right to sound so sad, no right to ask that, but Jack can’t find the strength to move. It hardly registers that he’s awake at first because they are in broad daylight with the sun beating down, and he’d been chasing the _goddamn sun_ for two months, hadn’t seen the moon in just as long. He’d been doing so well. He thought he’d escaped but no Pitch is here _he’s here_ and suddenly there is a shadow before him and a large hand pushing down the hood of his sweatshirt. It burns. Those hands leave trails of fire and Jack feels the pain behind his eyes like a slow-building migraine as his jumbled thoughts try to organize themselves into an order his body will follow.

“Why are you running from this? Why do you keep fighting?” Jack’s body spasms, muscles clenching in an aborted attempt to run, and he can see Pitch fully before him and this isn’t a dream _(he knew it wasn’t but it’s confirmed now it’s reality)_ and the hand on his neck tightens, clasps almost fully around his throat and holds him down like an iron ball.

“You’re still trying to deny it. Deny this. This is what you are meant for Jack. And it hurts, doesn’t it, trying to fight this? You don’t need to fight your fear Jack.” Pitch sounds so soothing, as though it’s Jack’s fault that he’s so frightened, like it’s _Jack’s_ fault that things are so hard for the both of them. He _does_ need to fight his fear, he needs to break free he needs to RUN.

“You don’t need to fight me.” There is a finger against his lips and he wants to bite but the idea of tasting that skin in his mouth makes his throat close up. His mind is screaming but his body is grounded by the hand on the back of his neck and the fingers on his cheek _(God how he remembers these monstrous hands he could never forget them could never forget what they TOOK from him)_. He jerks but he can’t quite force his body to move and why won’t it just LISTEN to him?

“You know this is where you belong Jack. You know it.” _No he doesn’t no he doesn’t!_ He doesn't belong under such massive hands and Pitch is gripping him far too tight far too tenderly for this to be natural in any sense of the word.

"Why why WHY are you fighting me!? Stop blocking me out, stop running! Even now, even now I know you want to run. You know you’re meant for me! You and I are the same, we’re EXACTLY the same Jack. Even as you fight it you know, you KNOW. Just like you did then.” He’s being sucked in like the tide, he has absolutely no control over his body, no control over this situation and Pitch is surrounding him completely he’s _trapped_. Every part of his body that is pressed against Pitch feels as though it’s burning, melting.

“They couldn’t tell, could they? Your little guardian friends. They couldn’t tell how afraid you were even though you were right there.” Jack hates himself for being unable to so much as flinch when Pitch nuzzles his hair, runs a hand over his face as though he is trying to read Jack’s expression through his fingertips. “I did Jack. I know you. I know that even when you’re with them, you’re alone. Alone in a way you never are with me. Did you tremble, like you did then, when they touched you? Did your body react to every move they make? Like it did then,” He doesn’t want to think about it he doesn’t want to imagine it but Pitch’s hands are _everywhere_ , “Like it is now?”

He wants to close his eyes wants to block it all out but his eyes are frozen open _(and it isn’t funny how his own element is working against him he has become ice he is unmoving he is breaking)_ and suddenly Pitch pulls away, just slightly. Jack thinks for a moment that this is his chance but then he blinks and his eyelashes catch on cold water. He is horrified to realize that he’s crying, cool tears streaking his face and Pitch’s thumb smears them across his cheekbone almost reverently. The fear is overwhelming him it’s consuming him and a feverish voice in his head shrieks at him _stop fighting cold and fear dark and ice this is **us** —_

The voice isn’t in his head, Pitch is murmuring in his ear in a sibilant tone that implies a branding heat which would carve promises so deeply into his skin that they would scar Jack’s bones and singe his marrow to ash.

“You came to me Jack. Came _for_ me.” And somehow the spell is broken and a single word manages to claw its way out of his throat.

“No.” Jack whispers, and although that small denial trembles in the air so hesitantly that he fears it might shatter _(that his strength might splinter into shards)_ , he knows that he has some power here.

“No?” Pitch’s voice takes a different tone, one that sends shudders down Jack’s spine but he can’t falter here, he can’t falter now _(but god was he always so small was he always so tiny compared to this terrifying figure)._

“No!” He repeats it, a little louder, and a wave of rage comes over him. “No, I’m not like you, I’m not! I’m nothing like you and you’re _wrong!”_

The words don’t stop coming now that the dam has broken and he’s hardly aware of what he’s saying but Jack can feel his nails biting into his palms as his voice gets stronger. Pitch grabs him and his fingers dig into the flesh of his cheeks _(it’s like that night it’s like being gagged by a scorching palm and he loses the ability to speak again)_. Pitch’s eyes are narrow with anger and Jack is still crying why can’t he stop _crying?_

“Am I?! You’re mine, Jack! That’s what you were created for that’s what you were MADE for! You were made to belong to me and you know it!”

“No! I wasn’t made for you, I wasn’t made for anyone!” The wind is on his side and Jack desperately wishes for Pitch to lose his balance but he clings like a second skin, his grip growing tighter and Jack is terrified that this time he _will_ have marks. That this time he’ll have to admit it, he’ll have to acknowledge his weakness, and this time there is _no excuse._

“Is your memory faulty, perhaps!? Maybe you don’t remember, Jack, how you called me there! It was YOUR mind! YOUR nightmare! You brought me there!” He could never forget he could never block it out every detail of that night is etched so deeply into his skull that even an x-ray could pick it up. Pitch is so angry so loud so certain that although Jack knows that it’s not his fault there is a tiny voice inside his head whispering _‘you let him in’._

“No no no! You made it you got into my head! You did it!” It’s not his fault, it’s not! He didn't mean to, he didn't want it, it was an accident, he didn't _know._

“I don’t make the nightmares you little fool! I can only watch! You let me in there! YOU had the nightmare you WANTED me there!” Just like that there is something that breaks and it spreads like cracks in the ice, tiny lines shattering across a broad lake and he’s desperate for air.

“No I didn’t, I don’t want you anywhere near me!” The wind comes again, another futile attempt to knock Pitch away, and Jack goes entirely limp because he’s just. So. Tired. He wants to slide out of Pitch’s hands like water, wants to melt away into the rooftop like ice. It hits him suddenly. Ice, of course. He raises his hands to Pitch’s chest and wills the frost to unfurl across shadowed skin. Something in him dies a little but it must be done it _must be done._

“You wanted me there. You wanted all of it.” Pitch runs his hands through his hair and Jack watches the ice thicken, wills it to grow, wills it to HURT.

“No.” He says, and it’s firm even though his body is weak. The ice crackles, sharpens, and Jack ignores the way it blackens and twists. Pitch is bent over him and Jack’s face is nearly pressed into his collarbones and he’s not even flat-footed on the ground he’s almost weightless because Pitch is holding him up _(he hates how weak he is he hates how small he is he hates himself)._

“Don’t you remember Jack?” Of course he does. Of course. “The way you cried out for me, the way you arched for me, how you pushed up into my touch even as you tried to say no? You went with my hand, your skin was flushed and you could barely breath because of me, because you knew what you wanted.”

 _I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THIS I DON’T WANT TO KNOW._ The image of himself through Pitch’s eyes the terrible vision of his body betraying him entirely the knowledge that he had been completely powerless to stop it makes Jack push more effort into the ice and for an awful moment he wants to kill Pitch wants him to bleed-

He’s no better than Pitch. Jack screams, screams to drown out his thoughts and screams because he can. He feels hot lips against his temple and the scream cracks, breaks.

“I wondered, so often since, what that sounded like. When you screamed for me as you came for me. You’re mine, Jack. You are already mine. We both know it. I’m only waiting for you to admit it. To admit to what your body already knows.” It’s a disgusting thought and Jack cuts himself off, unnaturally still as he holds his breath, holds in his scream.

“I know you’re still fighting, you always fight. I’ll wait for you Jack.”

 _‘Then you’ll wait forever.’_ Jack thinks, bitter at first, but it turns into harsh realization because Pitch might do just that. And the shock at that thought is what distracts him until it’s too late. There are lips over his own and he goes completely still. He swears that even his heart stopped beating. Everything else suddenly goes cold except for his mouth, which is seared and burned and marked and even if it only lasts a few seconds it feels like hours that he’ll never regain.

Pitch peels himself away slowly and the ice shatters between them.

“But I won’t wait forever.”

The air leaves his lungs and Pitch is gone now but Jack still can’t run away. He falls to his knees, boneless, terrified. He can’t stop trembling and the tears won’t stop falling, and when his body begins retching he just does his best to ride out the pain as he heaves up his meager stomach contents.

His mouth burns, everything burns but especially his lips, and even forever doesn’t feel like distance enough between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you managed to stick through how repetitive this is.
> 
> Kal out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much plot happening in this one! Sorry! Mainly a bunch of looking into Pitch's head and an excuse for me to gush after recently seeing the movie again. Whoops.

The winter had always been his.

Not officially, of course. But winter had been a time of darkness, a time when the mortals would cower from the fears that were suddenly all too real. Would they survive? Would sickness take them? Was there enough food? Would the roof collapse under the snow? Would the wolves come and take them in the night?

Would the Boogeyman drag them off into the dark and the cold?

But of course, winter made him happy, and they couldn’t have that could they? So it started slowly, with North at first. And Pitch allowed it to happen _(fool fool you old and arrogant fool!)_ , he was powerful and great and what was one day of bright lights and wonder in the middle of dark and despair?

Pitch had laughed then, at Christmas, at them for trying to bring light into his winter. As far as he was concerned North’s bright day of wonder only made his shadows seem darker, only made the fear and pain greater when they came crawling back. _(What a fool he’d been, to simply laugh and allow it. To think his old friend would simply stop there to not realize that they were already wearing away at the foundations beneath him.)_

By the time Jack was born it was more like a final petty insult, a last kick to the ribs after he had fallen. He was losing belief at a painful rate, he could hardly be seen anymore and the winter had been his last refuge. Until some small young spirit came and made it something _fun._

He hadn’t the energy to be enraged at Jack’s existence then. He wanted nothing to do with the boy and would only sneer at the stories of his trouble making, smile to himself that the Old Man’s latest little toy couldn’t gain a foothold within the world.

When he finally did see Jack he could hardly spare a thought for him. He didn’t think much of the thin, jumpy and glaring boy wandering around with The Guardians. Jack was not his concern. If anything it was funny, seeing the Moon’s new child angry and bitter and an utter failure.

_Then I’m going to ignore you. But...you must be used to that by now._

Oh what a fool he’d been.

Because he hadn’t ignored Jack. Even when he was so intent on mocking the Guardians, announcing his intentions to DARE them to stop him, even then he was aware of Jack. He noticed every movement the boy had made, especially the way he looked, when Pitch said what he wanted.

_To be believed in..._

And then Jack, with a flare and a burst of blinding white, had made himself noticed. Pitch had taken down one of his oldest enemies and this _child_ came from nowhere to shoot him out of the sky. Jack had given him a challenge, Jack had suddenly raised the stakes and made it fun.

It was humiliating and ridiculous, that the boy could throw him from the sky when the Guardians couldn’t even get close. It was unfathomable and Pitch had staggered on the ground where he landed, laughing harder than he had in centuries.

He was _alive._ Sanderson was gone, fear was already seeping back into the world, and someone was finally making this battle interesting!

And just like that Jack became worth noticing. Pitch wanted to know more. Wanted to see more of this small angry thing that had taken the winter away from him.

He sent a Nightmare to watch the Guardians, and the boy. And with every report Onyx brought back to him, with every new fact, Pitch’s fascination grew. He finally gave in and hunted down the box of memories that had Jack’s face on it.

It was barely a link anymore _(the boy didn’t remember, didn’t know who he was and the thought wrapped around Pitch’s lungs and squeezed them tight. Waking up with only a name and nothing else...it was far too familiar it was too close for comfort)_ but it was enough for him to look into the boy’s fears. Fear, after all, was the best way to learn what someone really was.

And Jack...Jack was him. Jack’s fears slammed into Pitch like a landslide and left him gasping and shaking, clutching his fist tight to keep himself grounded, to remind himself that it wasn’t his own mind he was looking into.

_Fear of being alone fear that no one will ever believe fear that he’ll always be walked through that he was always going to be like this. Why was he like this why had this happened to him (Pitch had wondered that himself so many times, why was he born to be this thing?) Fear that the Guardians didn’t mean it, that they would leave and he would be alone again. And that was it, the fear of being alone the fear of never having ANYONE, afraid that he’ll always be left with nothing to talk to but the wind (nothing to talk to but the shadows nothing but the fear...)_

Pitch had stared at the little box that had given him the link to Jack. Ran his fingers over the inlaid patterns without really looking at them.

“Oh you marvelous child....” The winter hadn’t been taken from him. It had just been given form. The moon may have meant for Jack to be a Guardian, but Jack had become something else. Jack had turned into the only other being who knew what it was like, to be born with nothing, to be cast aside and written off as useless, to fear loneliness and long for something else, to know the wrenching pain of being walked through and looked through.

The winter was his, and it had been given back to him in the perfect companion.

And of course, the Guardians would never be able to understand. They’d never know what Jack truly was, they would never accept something that had been made from Pitch’s winter and Pitch’s fear.

He would just have to make Jack see that, to prove to him that he didn’t belong with them ( _and if it got Jack out of the way for a little bit then Pitch was not averse to killing two birds with one stone. Or, in this case, two eggs._ )

And he couldn’t stop smiling the whole time the boy was in his home. Jack was all anger and sharp, glaring stubbornness, but he was listening. And of course he wasn’t afraid of Pitch, why be afraid of what you were meant for?

Later, in the south pole, Pitch had everything. Sanderson was gone, the Rabbit couldn’t be seen, the others were growing weaker and Pitch was starting to feel like his old self. He could feel the belief and the power filling him and only one thing was left. All he had to do now was save this broken, angry and lonely boy from the fate that the Moon and his pets had forced on him. That had been forced on both of them.

He hadn’t really anticipated being told no. True, he’d prepared ( _always be prepared, he had thought as he shoved the little fairy into the shadows_ ), but he hadn’t really thought he would be refused. That he would expose himself, tell Jack that he knew, show Jack that he wasn’t alone that they were both the same.

To let himself open to Jack, only to have Jack turn his back on him. Pitch couldn’t remember feeling such rage before. It made him calm and terrible, made him laugh as he watched the pain in Jack’s eyes while Pitch broke his staff, made him smile at the sight of the boy lying broken at the bottom of the chasm.

The winter was his, it couldn’t go to anyone else. 

Of course Jack had come back, came back with his rage and his light and it had made Pitch laugh again, to see Jack still rising against him. To see how strong and unbreakable he was. 

It made Pitch want to destroy him all the more, for refusing to go with him.

Even as he felt defeat close around him, felt his power dwindle with every Nightmare that was taken, all he could think of was Jack. All he could aim for was Jack and every thought was centered on feeling his scythe go deep into the boy’s back. He was going down, but he would take the winter with him. He would feel the life shudder out of Jack and see him broken on the ground for turning his back what they were.

For the longest time he wanted nothing but to see Jack broken, to see him shattered and destroyed because he had slipped through Pitch’s fingers.

And then that night, that night changed everything. Because he realized, he hadn’t lost Jack, Jack was already his. He had seen it in the way Jack strained under his touch, the way they fit together. Jack was his.

But now, now that Pitch finally understands this, Jack is breaking.

And Pitch is burning.

He forces himself to pull away from Jack, to put distance between them. He needs to wait, needs Jack to come on his own but he’s burning now. The horrid heat is consuming him from the inside out and every bit of him is screaming for cold.

He wouldn’t be able to stop himself now, if he got too close.

Jack had seeped into him. That ice had sunk deep down and left a scorching emptiness behind when Pitch ripped himself away. He could feel where Jack had pressed against him, like an outline of the boys body traced in fire.

Every heartbeat, every breath, sends white hot pain through his veins.

His hands feel like they should be nothing but ash by now. And his lips, his lips are the worst. He can feel the exact points where they had pressed against Jack and now the fire makes them feel cracked and raw. Screaming for the relief of that soft, cool mouth beneath his own.

He’s going to die, he’ll die in this heat without the ice to quench the flames. Jack was his, and now that he had realized this it was like a wildfire had been set. And the closer he got, the worse it grew.

He was going to die from the fire, and Jack was the only thing that could save him.

But Jack was breaking.

Pitch could see it, even while he felt the ecstasy of that cold skin beneath his fingers. He could see the spiderweb cracks that spread from each brush of his hand.  
He could see Jack crumbling beneath his touch, see the brilliant light that had drawn Pitch to him flickering in panic. Jack had never been afraid of Pitch before, but now he was terrified.

Pitch had moved too quickly, too soon. He saw what was his and grabbed at him with all the grace of a greedy child. Grabbed quickly and far too hard, and destroyed everything.

But could he be blamed? After so long, and after so much rage, he had discovered that he and Jack were already one in the same. As soon as Jack had shuddered beneath his hand it was all over. He could never have stopped himself then.

But Jack is breaking.

Pitch needed to stop.

He couldn’t stop.

The burning would never stop, would never leave him now that it had started. He could see Jack cracking under his hand but couldn’t. stop. Even as his mind screamed at how wrong it was, for Jack to cry for him. Even as he was nearly sick when he thought about the shattering in the air when Jack screamed ( _and the scream had been so beautiful but the cracking had been wrong the broken notes were all WRONG_ ).

He couldn’t stop. It was too late, far too late.

He stares at his hands, they’re burning still. And Jack is breaking but Pitch won’t be able to stop them from reaching out to the sweet relief of that skin. Jack had found out what he was meant for too late, and it was destroying him.

_I’m sorry I’m so sorry. I should have found you sooner, should have known sooner. Should have known better than to grab I should have known to be more patient with you. If I had known, if I had found you before they got into your head than none of this would have happened. You would know that you were mine and you wouldn’t shatter yourself trying to fight it._

“There’s no hope for either of us.” Pitch says softly.

Because Jack is breaking, but Pitch can’t stop.

And if he can’t have Jack whole, if he can’t have that rage, that bitterness, that laughter and bright smile and fierce determination...

Then he will take the pieces. He’ll take what he can get and gather the shards to himself.

Because Jack may be breaking, but he still belongs to Pitch.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention that if you want to listen to music during this chapter, I'd suggest Skinny Love by Birdy.

Jack should have known that he couldn’t hide forever. It’s funny how he had spent most of his life seeking attention, and when he finally had it he was sent running in the opposite direction.

_(His lips have been rubbed raw and cracked and bleeding and even the taste of frozen copper isn’t enough to wash away the burn)_

There’s nowhere to run anymore. No safe place, no daylight freedom or easy rest. Jack moves quickly from town to town, hardly able to focus. The bruises are slow to form but when they appear they are vivid, angry marks in the shape of hands _(they look like burns Pitch has branded him he is marked he is tainted)_ that ache whenever he moves. It’s not something easily ignored. He goes through the motions of living, barely remembering to eat, and of course never sleeping. He's tired but it's not something that sleeping can fix, anyway.

He's tired of running, of hiding, of feeling miserable and weak and haunted. There's another meeting but Jack doesn't go, doesn't even remember to send an excuse for his absence. The days pass by, cycles of moon and sun that don't mean much in the grand scheme of things. Jack doesn't really keep track of time. He'd stopped counting the days somewhere in his second century _(365 days multiplied by three hundred give or take it's an eternity that doesn't even compare to the week he has spent after the last encounter)._ Although he isn't paying attention to the time, the Guardians certainly are. Their missives aren't reaching him, and that's when they begin to worry.

Tooth catches him off-guard somewhere over Belarus. It’s after Christmas but it’s still the dead of winter and Jack has been creating small storms in a zig-zag across Europe in an attempt to hide his trail while still doing his job. Anyone who looked hard enough would have caught onto him, and Tooth’s added advantage of her fairies made it particularly easy for her to find him. She glides up right behind him and Jack feels her presence before she announces herself. He nearly sends ice flying at her before her face registers in his mind. It’s too late to hide his panicked expression and Tooth backs away with a sharp inhale.

“Jack, what’s wrong?” She asks, and the genuine concern in her face and voice rattles something within him. It’s been so long since he felt safe, felt cared for—but he can’t falter here he can’t let her know.

“Nothing’s wrong, Tooth.” Jack tosses her an overly bright grin and lets the wind cradle him. He rests in its embrace and tries to relax. “Did you come all the way out here just to check on little old me? I’m touched.” He truly is but he doesn’t let it show. Tooth doesn’t look convinced.

“Jack, you’ve been running all over the northern hemisphere for the past two months. You haven’t been to Burgess, Jamie left a note with one of his teeth.” She says, her tone gentle like she’s trying to soothe a rabid animal. Jack realizes that he’s holding his staff in front of himself, a barrier between him and his friend, a defensive position that he shouldn’t feel the need to fall into. He hadn’t even thought about it. He lowers his staff and his gaze goes with it. He feels more than he sees Tooth edging closer.

“Jack? Will you talk to me?” She's just out of reach, just far enough that he doesn't feel crowded _(and he shouldn't be afraid of her hurting him he knows she never would)._

"There's nothing to talk about, Tooth." He doesn't even try to smile, doesn't try to hide his lie. There's no point when she knows that something is off and probably had suspicions for a while. He'd never really had to lie before. There had been no one to lie to. Suddenly he is lying all the time and it _hurts._

Tooth doesn't say anything as she hovers next to him, still respecting his space. Jack takes a deep breath and shifts just a little bit closer. He can feel the breeze from her frantically beating wings, can see the light play off her nearly iridescent feathers, and she gives him a hesitant smile that speaks volumes. She isn't going to push the issue and she isn't going to do anything unless he gives her permission to. Jack feels his hands twitch and he breaks eye contact with her. His fingers tremble as he reaches out, uncertain if his silent plea for contact will be welcomed. Tooth takes his hand in one of hers and he hadn't noticed before that though her hands are slim they are not as small as he’d originally thought. She's warm but she isn't burning.

“You know we’ll always be here for you. _I’ll_ always be here.” It’s a quiet reassurance but Jack can feel her pulse through her palm, steady and calm against his own frantic heartbeat.

He’s afraid. He’s absolutely terrified.

But he isn’t alone anymore.

"I had a dream. A nightmare." Jack murmurs, voice so tight it is likely to snap if he speaks any louder. He doesn't have to say much more because Tooth's expression twists into something unrecognizable _(protective loving bitter angry guilty)_ and she has to smooth out her feathers with her free hand.

"Pitch." She growls. "Did he try to convince you to his side again? Did he hurt you?"

He'd been hurt, yes, hurt in a way that would never heal and that's somehow worse than the idea of a visible scar on his skin _(and the bruises have faded but they are vivid in his memory)_. A scythe would have been more welcome than a _(burning hot melting)_ hand on his skin. But Jack can't say it, can't outright explain the nature of the wound. His silence creates a tension that wasn't there before, and Tooth's face goes from concerned to bemused to dawning realization and horror. She doesn't know exactly what happened but she can guess.

She's seen enough memories to understand, if only a little.

“I didn’t know what to do.” Jack can feel his hands trembling again and he shoves the hand that isn't holding Tooth's into his pocket with a weak laugh. “He’s making me as crazy as he is.” His voice breaks, just a little, and Tooth looks like she may cry. Pain shared is pain halved but it seems like the air itself is shaking with the force of it, and Jack feels his breath go out of his chest as the wind shudders and loosens its grip. Tooth’s hand tightens around his and she is the only thing holding him up now, her strength making up for what he lacks.

It’s terrifying but it’s also relieving and Jack grins, bright and real, for the first time in months.

“It’s going to be okay, Jack.” Tooth promises, pulling him up to eye level and grinning back. She’s all warmth and light and beauty and Jack believes her.

They travel together, Tooth too nervous to let Jack be alone and Jack is secretly pleased that she cares so much. He’d forgotten this. Forgotten what it was like to have companionship, to have a friend. He helps her collect teeth and she joins in snowball fights, and one day when Jack is laughing so hard that his lungs ache Tooth wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him tight.

He freezes, but only at first. She’s not holding him down, she’s practically lifting him up and she is tucked against him and he can feel her laughing. This doesn’t burn. Slowly, Jack rests a hand between her shoulder-blades and hugs back.

_(and neither of them notice the shadows in the snow, twisting blue-black and shuddering)_

Things might not be okay right now, but they will be.


	11. Chapter 11

It’s not something he would have tried before. He wouldn’t have dared.

But now, things have changed. Priorities have changed. Strength is not necessary. Belief isn’t necessary.

Not when he can’t get it out of his mind ( _hands hands HER HANDS on him on Jack where they shouldn’t be small dainty hands that didn’t even know what they were touching couldn’t COULDN’T they weren’t worth the hair they had stroked through weren’t worth that face_ ). Not when she was poisoning Jack.

( _It was their fault HER FAULT Jack was breaking they had gotten into his head they had ruined him it was HER. FAULT._ )

And perhaps he could have forgiven one transgression ( _filthy unworthy tainting Jack’s head it was them they were the reason and he had finally found something for himself finally found a comfort from the loneliness THEY forced on him and SHE was taking it away_ ).

 

But she                        wouldn’t                                            _stop_.

 

Wouldn’t stop going with Jack and following him everywhere wouldn’t stop _**putting her hands on him.**_

__

It take’s a while (too long too long she wouldn't leave Jack), but he finally finds her alone.

 

__And she’s far too confident in her own strength, far too confident and arrogant and it’s FAR too easy to simply walk behind her in the shadows. She’s landed on some roof in a place that Pitch hasn’t taken the time to note._ _

That’s not important  
                                                     nothing is important.

 

Nothing but her back to him.

 

                                  The weight of the scythe in his hand.

 

                                                             And the memory of her hands touching what was his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahh sorry it's so short guys!


	12. Chapter 12

Jack doesn't think very highly of himself. Three hundred years of solitude would do that to anyone. So it didn't quite occur to him that maybe Pitch thought something of him, that Pitch saw him as more than a plaything. The idea had passed his mind once or twice but he brushed it off because he is _Jack Frost_ and there is nothing so fascinating about him. Pitch needs a weak link to torture and unfortunately for Jack he happens to be the one cog in the machine that doesn't turn quite right.

Being the object of an obsession is unnerving and the attention he knows is focused on him is new and unusual. Jack knows that Pitch is following him but he doesn't really know why and that's almost more terrifying. Pitch does more than scare him, does more than touch him _(he kissed him possessed him tried to **own** him)_. Jack feels as though Pitch is trying to suck him into his body, absorb him through his skin, open up his skull and crawl inside to stay. In some ways, Pitch has succeeded in that.

They haven’t met face to face since that day, but Jack can confirm that Pitch is out there and _(god how he wishes it were just paranoia)_ there is nothing he can do to stop it.

Perhaps that is why the news of Tooth’s attack hits him so hard; because he understands that it is his fault.

If only he hadn’t said anything to her, if only he had stayed quiet if only if only—he can’t change anything now. He had made a mistake. Jack knows that he shouldn’t have told Tooth anything. It’s his fault that she’s been hurt his fault that she’s bleeding and maybe even dying. _His_ fault. No one else’s.

Pitch is after him and even if he doesn’t fully understand _why_ he does know that anything that happens is because he fucked up. His fault his fault his fault. Everything is his fault. He’s too weak and too vulnerable and he can’t even stand on his own he can’t even keep his problems to himself. Now Tooth had gotten involved had gotten hurt and there is no going back now no fixing things no pretending otherwise. He wants to visit her but he can’t. He can't risk hurting her more.

_(He tries not to think of her warm hand in his or the way her body curled up against his side as they laughed together in the snow)_

There are only so many parts that a person can break into before the pieces are too small to shatter. An incomplete person, someone who will never be whole again, might find a way to end the suffering. A mortal being might make the ultimate choice. Jack doesn't have that luxury, that easy way out, and although the idea of fading out of existence is sometimes a very tempting one, there is still a defiant part of him that shouts _'no'_. He won't give up everything he has worked so hard for.

The self-pity gradually turns into rage. Why is it _his_ fault that Pitch is acting this way? As far as Jack knew, Pitch had been a nutjob since the beginning of time. So why does Jack have to take the blame for everything when he doesn’t even understand why it’s been happening? He hasn’t done anything wrong! He clutches his staff tightly to his chest, pressing his forehead against the worn wood and taking deep breaths.

He needs to find Pitch. He needs to find him and figure out what the fuck is wrong with him. Jack has no idea where Pitch might be _(he could be in the shadows beneath his feet)_ , but there is one place that he knows of that would be a good start. He hesitates because no he can’t go back there ever again but then his mind conjurs up an image of Tooth lying dead in the shadows and his heart lurches while his stomach twists with rage. He doesn’t think about it anymore—he jumps from the building he is standing on and calls for the wind to carry him home _(it’s not home anymore but it’s the only place that ever was)_.

The trip across the ocean is too short and the anger is still festering within him as he touches down on the outskirts of Burgess. Strange, how this place has changed so much and yet so little at the same time. He used to love it here _(but now it’s a place of damaged memories and he can’t run he can’t this time)_. Jack marches forward because he can’t lose his nerve. Not now. Not when he is finally determined to get some answers.

He is terrified and he can’t pretend that he isn’t but he’s far angrier than he is afraid and when the broken bedframe almost opens up for him, welcoming him, Jack throws himself through the hole in the Earth and  
f  
a  
l  
l  
s  
and he hits the ground at a run because he can’t lose his momentum now. Jack can hardly see a thing and this is unfamiliar territory _(but is it really so foreign to him after all this) _yet he holds tight to his fury and yells into the shadows:__

“Pitch! I know you’re there, come out and face me!”

And he waits, finally at a standstill, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Of course I’m here, Jack. I told you I’d be waiting for you.” He shudders but it isn’t with fear, it’s with rage because does Pitch really think that Jack came to this place for him?

“I’m not here for that.” He snarls. “Now come out and **face me**!” And he is prepared when Pitch appears right before him, barely even flinching _(even though he is too close too close always too close)_.

“Then WHY are you here? Why are you here if not because you BELONG here, Jack? What more will it take to get it through your thick skull?” Pitch isn’t pleased but Jack can bet that he’s far less so, and his hands shift their grip on his staff. He glares and he hasn’t felt so strong in such a long, long time.

“I’m here for Tooth.” He says, voice cold and crackling because Pitch is treading on thin ice. “I’m here because I want answers.” He can’t hold himself back anymore he can’t keep the rage inside _(and he’s losing control of this, too, he’s losing control of the one thing he has going for him)._

“Well she isn’t HERE. Your little Rabbit took the thief with him.”

“Of course she isn’t _here_ , the others wouldn’t have let you keep her.” Jack snaps, and before he can continue Pitch is talking again and this man is never quiet he never LISTENS.

“The answers are right in front of you, you STUPID child! All of this is because you refuse to see them! Because you keep ignoring what is right in front of you, you are are blinding yourself to what. you. are!”

“Then what am I, Pitch?” Jack howls and the wind is with him, carrying his voice and he isn’t in control here he is an ice storm building in the clouds and everything is freezing around him. “What am I that makes you keep tormenting me like this? What am I that drove you to attack _Tooth?!”_

The answer is barely audible over the wind but Jack hears it clear as day.

“You’re MINE.” Pitch hisses. “You were born in cold and dark and fear you were born to be a lonely, miserable, unbelieved in thing, you were born from EVERYTHING that I was! The winter was mine, Jack, and it never stopped being mine. You were MADE for me!” It’s nothing new it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before but it punches the air from his lungs anyway and Jack loses it _(his sanity his control his limp hold on his anger) because Pitch actually believes in what he is saying._

“I’m not yours!” He screams, and he thrusts out his staff in such a basic act of violence that he would be ashamed of himself later for sinking so low. But he is angry and hurt and confused and Pitch NEEDS TO SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO HIM. “I’m not yours, I never was and I never will be, and THIS NEEDS TO STOP.” Everything everything needs to stop and he doesn’t relent even as Pitch is thrown back. Jack pushes forward, feet leaving jagged ice on the ground as he stares Pitch down.

He isn’t going to let Pitch win. He isn’t going to lose.

But then Pitch is laughing. Jack doesn’t comprehend it at first because it’s so ridiculous, so completely absurd that he thinks his brain is playing tricks on him. But Pitch is standing up now and Jack falters because he is laughing and smiling and _why is he so pleased?_

“There you are.” Pitch says, laughing still. Jack doesn’t understand _(he understands so little all he wanted was answers)_. “I thought you were broken I thought I wouldn’t see you again but you’re still perfect still rage and cold and fear and you keep fighting and denying me but you’re still there!”

“What are you even talking about?” Jack demands, but he doesn’t give Pitch time to answer because he is striking out with his staff again and this time there are shards of ice flying at that damned man. Pitch dodges, cheap shadow tricks protecting him and hiding him as Jack twists and tries to get a lock on him again. His feet aren’t on the ground anymore, the wind is carrying him aloft _(and he is so so afraid touching the ground of being vulnerable to shadows trapping his feet and holding him down)_.

“Everything you are, Jack! Everything was made for me! Don’t you see? Your rage and strength and FEAR and cold! You know what it’s like you’re the only one who knows! And you think it’s coincidence? That the only one who knows what this feels like was made from my winter and my cold and darkness?” Pitch’s laughter fades and Jack is suddenly alone in this big cavernous space. And then there words in his ear so close too close, “Everything you are, is mine. Everything you are is made for me, Jack. You’re mine.”

None of it makes sense but at the same time it does _(and he’s going crazy he’s just as crazy as Pitch if not more so)_ and Jack gives a slightly hysterical laugh that cracks as he jerks away. “You’re psychotic. Delusional.” The wind tries to disperse the shadows and Jack turns to face Pitch and this time he uses his fists instead of his staff. Pitch dodges of course, of course, and all Jack wants is one solid blow against that smug face _(knock out some teeth for Tooth’s sake)_.

“Am I, Jack? What part of it is delusional? Tell me, Jack, what is so ‘psychotic’ about it? Your body knows, YOU know it’s true.” Jack keeps pressing forward and with every word he grows a little more frantic, a little more desperate, and god why won’t Pitch SHUT UP?!

“I’m a GUARDIAN! I’ll never be yours! I wasn’t made for this I wasn’t made for dark and fear I was made to PROTECT!” He firmly believes that _(he’s losing his grip his faith)_ he knows it’s the truth _(he was alone for three hundred years)_ he belongs with the Guardians _(they were never there for him)_.

Jack doesn’t know if it’s the shadows feeding off his fears but he’s willing to blame them for these seeds of doubt because he knows HE KNOWS that Pitch is wrong.

“And they left you alone for how long before they let you in on their little party? Before they decided you could join the club? If you were made for them you would have had your memories, your belief, like THEY did when THEY were called! They grabbed you because you were the best weapon against ME. Because you were the closest THING to me! My only mistake my ONLY regret is not finding you sooner! Is not knowing you sooner!” Pitch is angry he is shouting and Jack feels his resolve chip away but Pitch is _(right)_ WRONG and the thought that maybe Pitch could have found him sooner _(given him a home)_ could have hurt him _(loved him)_ is revolting.

“You don’t know anything.” Jack knows it’s a desperate cop-out _(he used it in Antarctica and look where that got him)_. Coming here was a mistake.

Everything has been such a big mistake.

 _He_ is a mistake.

The wind is lagging because Jack’s conviction is fading away and his chest is tight and he can’t cry, not again, but his eyes are burning with the cold and he doesn’t want to fight anymore he can’t anymore he isn’t strong enough _he isn’t enough_.

“Oh Jack...” He knows what’s coming but he doesn’t stop it barely reacts when he feels a large hand getting close _(feels the heat the burn)_. It doesn’t touch him but it’s there and Jack doesn’t move closer or away. “I know everything.”

He lets out an anguished, broken noise because he wants to deny it but Pitch does understand at least a little bit of it and that’s how he had gotten under Jack’s skin gotten into his head and sunk his claws in his brain. His mouth is moving but words don’t come out, silently repeating _‘no no no no’_ but this is the end.

He’s trapped.

He’s trapped and it’s his own fault, of course it’s his fault everything always is. He’d sabotaged himself by coming here and there is no distinguishing reality from nightmare because it all feels the same to him now it’s all an endless black hole that’s sucking everything away. Everything is pulled out from beneath him.

What’s left now?


	13. Chapter 13

“Oh Jack...” He doesn’t touch, not quite ( _said he wouldn’t he has to hold back he can’t touch can’t touch it’s all over if he touches_ ). He can see the cracks again. Hairline fractures spreading from where his hand hovers as Jack stays perfectly still. 

 

He had hoped...but that flair was just that, a flair. A last cry of what had been (what could have been) and now the cracks were back, and deeper. Pitch realizes that he just saw the last of his old Jack.

 

“I know everything...” He hears the heartbreak in his own words. Feels it wrench in his chest as the cracks spread deeper with a soft, fractured sound from Jack. 

 

_‘It’s too late...’_ he thinks. _‘Too late for either of us.’_

_‘Too late to stop.’_

 

Jack may have convinced himself of other reasons, but he still came here. Still came to Pitch. Is still in front of him, not pulling away from where Pitch’s hand hangs between them.

 

He came here, came to Pitch.

 

And Pitch had waited.

 

His hand moves, slowly, finally, cupping Jack’s cheek ( _cold and soft and home they’re home now it’s all come full circle._ ) And now there is nothing for Jack to wake up to.

 

He moves his thumb over the skin, sighing at the perfection and the way Jack barely even flinches. Jack just closes his eyes and lets out a small, soft sound that could almost be a sob. The wind dies, lowers them to the ground and leaves only a faint, weak breeze stirring the air.

 

Pitch brings his other hand to rest on Jack’s shoulder, curls his hand over the slight curve of it ( _fits so perfectly in his palm all of Jack fits him perfectly._ )

 

And the shadows creep closer.

 

Jack doesn’t move.

 

“You’re home now, Jack.” Pitch says quietly, bringing the hand on Jack’s shoulder to rest alongside his neck. “And I am sorry...” Jack finally moves at that, doesn’t look up, but cringes beneath Pitch’s touch. “I’m sorry it had to be this way. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner, sorry that it had to come to this.”

 

He doesn’t say the rest, but it hangs in the air.

 

_I’m sorry you wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t see the truth. I’m sorry you fought, sorry that you broke yourself denying what was right in front of you._

 

He steps forward, closes the space between them and winds his arms around Jack. The boy is small and cold and it’s so easy to surround him in Pitch. So easy to tuck Jack’s head against his shoulder and press his face into that cold hair. Press his lips to the top of Jack’s head ( _cold and perfect he isn’t burning anymore, isn’t dying anymore because Jack is here Jack is where he belongs._ )

 

“You’re home now.” He repeats softly, surely. Jack twitches again, but doesn’t fight. Doesn’t pull back.

 

_(the cracks spread,_

_the fractures deepen.)_

 

Pitch pulls back just enough to tilt Jack’s face up, watches the way the cracks spread over his flat eyes, the way Jack barely reacts anymore. ( _It’s wrong, it’s wrong but Pitch knows it’s all he has now. It may be wrong but it’s still his._ )

 

He leans in, presses their foreheads together and breathes the air that Jack breathes. It catches in his lungs, cold and harsh and so, so good.

 

“You’re home.” He exhales. Then closes the space, presses his lips to Jack’s.

 

Everything is 

 

perfect.

 

He holds Jack close, kisses him soft and long and feels the cracks spreading, feels the trembling against his lips as the shadows crawl, surround them and pull them in.

 

The burning stops, everything stops. Pitch has Jack home and against him and on his lips as he draws him deep into _their_ home.

 

And Jack

 

 

b r e a k s.


	14. Chapter 14

 

There is nothing left. There is no one who can help him now. He’d dug his grave and now it’s time to lie in it, so that’s what Jack does.

It’s growing darker as the shadows close in and Jack isn’t sure what’s real anymore: he simply closes his eyes and tries not to tremble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_(Welcome home, Jack)_

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know this, I (Kalael) have been working on a sequel to this called 'Debris'. It's already posted and stuff. So yeah c:


End file.
